A Gathering Storm

Fractured Silence

The hall doors had barely closed behind Wren when chairs scraped sharply against the stone floor.

Drew rose first.

Andra rose a heartbeat later.

The difference was subtle but unmistakable—Drew moved with urgency, Andra with restrained fury.

“Sit,” Andra said under his breath.

Drew did not.

“She shouldn’t be alone right now,” he replied evenly, though tension had already crept into his posture.

Andra’s smile did not reach his eyes. “She is my betrothed.”

The word landed like a weight.

“And under my authority.”

Drew inclined his head just enough to remain polite, but he did not sit back down. “You are still a stranger to her.”

For a moment, the two men simply stared at one another across the length of the table.

Then Andra turned sharply and strode toward the doors.

Drew followed.

Wren’s footsteps echoed through the corridor, faster now, less measured than before. The quiet composure she had held at the table had fractured the moment she stepped beyond the watching eyes of the hall.

Her hands trembled.

Her cheek still burned from the tension she had forced herself to swallow all evening.

She did not hear them at first.

“Wren.”

Andra’s voice rang down the corridor, sharp and controlled.

She did not stop.

“Wren.” Louder this time.

Her pace quickened.

The sound of boots striking stone closed the distance rapidly behind her.

Then—

A hand seized her arm.

Hard.

She gasped as her body jerked to a halt.

Andra’s grip was iron-tight, fingers digging into her sleeve as he spun her around to face him. His expression was no longer composed. The polite court mask had cracked, revealing something far colder beneath.

“You will not walk out on me,” he said, voice low and shaking with restrained anger.

“Let go of me.”

“That,” he continued as though she had not spoken, “was a public humiliation. You will do as you are told.”

“I said let go.”

His grip tightened. “You forget your position.”

“And you forget I am not your possession.”

The words came out sharper than she intended.

For a brief second, something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

“You are bound to this tower,” he said. “And to me.”

“I am not.”

She twisted her arm, trying to pull free. His hold only tightened further. Pain shot up her shoulder.

“Stop struggling,” Andra snapped. “You will return to hall with me and calm down.”

“Let go!”

She shoved him.

Not with magic.

With force.

It was enough to break his balance for half a step—but not enough to free her.

Behind them, Drew had just reached the corridor.

“Lord Andra,” he called carefully, “you’re hurting her.”

Andra did not even look at him.

“You will return,” he said to Wren, each word clipped. “Apologize. Sit. And behave as expected.”

“No.”

The refusal was quiet. Final.

Silence dropped like a blade.

Then Andra struck her.

The sound echoed down the corridor.

Sharp. Sudden.

Wren’s head snapped to the side as the force of the slap sent her stumbling back against the wall. Her lip split against her teeth, copper flooding her mouth as blood welled instantly at the corner of her lips.

Drew froze.

For a single, stunned heartbeat.

Blood slid down Wren’s chin.

And the tower felt it.

The wards rippled.

Not visibly to the untrained eye—but to Wren it was unmistakable. The entire structure shuddered in response, magic reacting to her blood like a struck bell reverberating through stone.

Her breath hitched.

Something inside her snapped.

Darkness surged.

Not slowly. Not cautiously.

Violently.

The air around her dropped in temperature as black magic burst outward in a sudden wave.

Andra barely had time to react before the force struck him square in the chest.

He was thrown backward, crashing hard onto the stone floor, breath knocked from his lungs as the impact echoed through the corridor.

The torches along the walls flickered wildly.

Shadows twisted unnaturally.

Drew’s heart lurched into his throat.

“Wren—!”

She stood frozen, blood still at her lip, eyes wide and unfocused as the darkness coiled around her hands like smoke made solid.

Her breathing came fast. Uneven.

Illegal.

Visible.

Uncontrolled.

If anyone else saw this—

Drew moved immediately.

He stepped directly in front of her, placing himself between her and the corridor behind them.

“Wren,” he said softly, urgently, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Look at me.”

The shadows trembled.

She didn’t move.

“Wren.”

His hands hovered, then carefully settled on her shoulders. Gentle. Grounding.

“You need to breathe.”

Her gaze snapped to his face, panic flooding her expression. “He hit me.”

“I know.”

“He—” Her voice broke. “He hit me.”

“I saw.”

Behind them, Andra groaned, struggling to push himself upright.

Drew’s pulse spiked.

“If you lose control now,” he whispered quickly, “everyone will see. The guards. The Aers. The council.”

The darkness around her flickered violently.

“They’ll call it treason,” he continued. “Possession. Corruption. You know they will.”

Her hands shook.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t.” His voice softened further. “But you must stop. Now.”

“Drew…”

“Breathe.”

Slowly, shakily, she inhaled.

Then exhaled.

The shadows wavered.

Another breath.

The darkness thinned, retreating reluctantly back into the stone beneath their feet.

Drew let out a silent breath of relief.

Footsteps echoed faintly from deeper in the hall.

Too many.

“They’re coming,” he murmured.

Wren wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand, staring down at the smear as if it did not belong to her.

“I can’t stay here,” she whispered.

“No,” Drew agreed quietly. “You can’t.”

Behind them, Andra finally rose to one knee, fury blazing openly now.

“You will not leave this tower,” he hissed.

Wren did not even look at him.

She turned and ran.

Drew followed without hesitation.

They moved through side corridors, avoiding the main stairwells where servants and guards would already be gathering after the disturbance.

“Where are we going?” Drew asked breathlessly.

“The east side,” she replied. “There’s an old exit built into the outer wall. It is there only for final escape if the Tower is falling.”

“Can you open it?”

“My father taught me, it... it uses blood magic, how could I have forgotten that…,” she said. “There are parts of this tower no-one knows about.”

They turned sharply down a narrow passage lit only by dim blue torches.

Behind them, distant voices rose.

Search orders.

“Faster,” Drew urged.

They reached a narrow archway half-hidden behind an old tapestry bearing the black sigil of the tower. Wren pulled it aside, revealing a small stone door etched with faded ward lines.

She touched her lip and with blood on her fingers she pressed hand to the surface.

The wards hummed.

Then the door unlocked with a quiet click.

Cold musty air rushed in as the door creaked open.

Beyond it stretched a narrow path descending along the eastern exterior wall of the tower, leading toward the distant plains.

Wren stared into the dark.

Freedom.

And danger.

Drew stretched out his hand and light glowed around it. He started off down the damp passageway.

“We have to flee east,” Drew said quickly. “To the Forest Tower.”

“What about Reed Town? This leads east because it made for an invasion from the swamp, but we could get through.”

He shook his head immediately. “Too dangerous. Especially now that we know how many creatures lurks there. Its also too close, without allies, he will catch up too quickly.”

“Andra… Will he send for the Ather’s”

Drew’s expression hardened. “He should try to arrest you, turn you over to the capital.”

“For using magic?”

“For existing with it,” he said quietly. “And for striking him with it. Even if he struck first, the council will not care.”

Wren swallowed.

“Maybe he’ll want control,” Drew hesitated. “Marriage, confinement, secrecy. Anything to keep the tower—and your power—under his authority. Either way the only chance you have is to flee”

Behind them, shouts echoed faintly from inside the tower.

They were running out of time.

“Come,” Drew said.

They slipped through the door and into the night.

From the highest balcony of the tower, Andra watched the eastern path through narrowed eyes.

“They used an old exit, we could not open it” one of his loyal guards reported quietly.

Andra’s jaw clenched.

“She used blood magic, my lord,” another said carefully. “We should alert the capital.”

“No.”

The word came cold and immediate.

“If the capital learns she wields any dark magic,” Andra continued, voice low, “they will remove her. And with her, the tower.”

Silence followed.

He exhaled slowly, regaining his composure.

“Gather only those loyal to me,” he ordered. “Quietly. No official pursuit. Tell the others she is resting in her rooms, distressed about the attack.”

“And the wedding, what about Aer Thade?”

Andra’s gaze flicked briefly toward the hall behind him.

“She is useful,” he said at last. “But not yet a replacement. Unless Wren dies her claim is too weak.”

His expression darkened.

“I will bring Wren back myself.”

The plains stretched and a few more trees appeared as they moved farther from the tower.

Grass brushes at them and the uneven ground underfoot made progress slow.

Wren’s breath burned in her lungs, but she did not stop.

Drew remained close at her side, tense and quiet. A cluster off trees ahead provided some cover.

“We should rest,” she gasped.

“Not yet.”

“You’re exhausted too.”

“I’ll rest when we’re safe.”

They kept walking through the night, slow and deliberate, till sleep dragged at them both and they stooped by another stand of trees.

Drew leaned against one and took out his flute, playing a strange tune Wren had never heard before. Light circled them and a trace of it remained as a barrier, a small ward to warn them of danger. She shared out some of the packed food and they ate in silence.

The sun rose slowly sending golden fingers of light over the plains. Wren still slept soundly exhausted.

A clopping sounded over the flat land.

Drew’s woke with the vibration of the light ward, his hand went instinctively to his flute.

He shook Wren, “We need to go, head for the trees.”

They set off again, running. Reaching the sparse forest heading for the East.

The forest fell silent. The only sounds were their laboured breaths and hurried footsteps.

Not a bird or breath of wind. Too silent.

Then—

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

Drew’s eyes widened. “Down—!”

An arrow sliced past them, embedding itself in a tree trunk ahead with a heavy thud.

Wren’s breath caught.

Another arrow followed.

Closer.

“They found us,” Drew said under his breath.

From the shadows behind them, figures emerged between the trees. Armored. Silent. Organized.

Andra stepped forward from among them, his white and black attire stark against the darkness of the forest.

“Wren,” he called, voice carrying through the trees. “Come back.”

She did not move.

“I will forget what I saw,” he continued. “Your… outburst. Your magic. Everything.”

Drew’s grip tightened around his flute.

“All you must do,” Andra added, “is return. Obey. And marry me as planned.”

Silence stretched.

Wren’s lip still bled faintly.

“You hit me,” she said.

Andra’s expression did not change. “You forced my hand.”

Rage flickered behind her eyes.

Another arrow lifted onto a drawn bow behind him.

“And if you refuse,” Andra continued coldly, “you will be declared unstable. Dangerous. Arrested under the cpaital’s law.”

Drew stepped slightly in front of her.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said.

Andra’s gaze shifted to him.

“You,” he said softly, “have already made one to many.”

The next arrow was released without warning.

It struck Drew high in the side.

The force of it drove the air from his lungs as he staggered backward, the flute slipping from his hand and hitting the forest floor with a dull, hollow sound.

“Drew—!”

He collapsed to his knees.

Then fell.